Unspoken
by affectionately-yours
Summary: When Rhea Stockton's life deteriorated, nothing more than ashes foreshadowed all she had lost. The men responsible, taunted her; revealing information revolving around the life of her husband. Seeking answers, demanding justice and on the brink of losing control, she finds that the truth lies with a gentleman, a gentleman known as Major John Andre. John/OC
1. Season 1: Demon's Without Faces

**_Unspoken  
_****OC Character Credits: Eli Stockton, Liam Stockton, Rhea Stockton  
****Rated T: Sexual Situations, Some Foul Language, Some Descriptive Violence  
****Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN TURN****  
**

_Love has 4 letters, but so does hate; friends have 7 letters, but so does enemies; truth has 5 letters; but so does lying - Unknown_

**[ Demons Without Faces ]**

_Newtown, Connecticut 1776_

Lucent, flickering flames crackled within the hearth; illuminating the dark hardwood panels beneath her feet. Rhea Stockton reclined her tired muscles in a thonet style rocking chair, willing her mind to relax after the long day.

Meandering around the house for a few hours, cleaning, preparing an abundance of meals for the next two days, and returning her son back to bed for the fifth time tonight seemed to sap her entirely of energy. Eli always had trouble sleeping when his father was absent to entertain him with an amusing fable. Tonight may turn out a disappointment for the lad, but Liam never stood for downfall.

Undoubtedly, it may not have been such a strenuous day if her son learned the benefits of leaving things in one's place, instead of moving them and creating a larger mess. But how much was she asking of a mere five-year-old?

The full moon gleamed through a curtain-less window, the night eerily still. Rhea gingerly fingered the unfinished quilt in her hands, continuing to thread the needle through the thin fabric, connecting the pieces. The front door slammed, the sound of booted feet resonated through the house. A crescent smile teased her lips as she continued her task, undaunted by the fact that her husband was indeed home. The faint glimmer of lamplight illuminated his silhouette, pale gray eyes sought her in the darkness.

"Rhea," He gestured toward the old rocker where she situated herself further. "What are you still doing up?"

Her lips forming a thin line, she studied his worn attire. "Does it bother you that I won't get my proper rest?"

"Not at all. I figured you wouldn't wait up for me." Liam reached to take off his boots, stained with a weeks worth of grime. He worked so hard, and sacrificed so much for his family, that sometimes she desperately wanted to repay the favor.

Selling cabbage to other farmers for profit could be a dangerous task. There were soldiers offering to do business for higher prices then those who plowed fields to profit their own families. Liam had his own system, one he stood by. As the war dredged on and the cost of living raised, the strategy he so heavily clung to may have faltered.

These days the profits were so meager, they barely made it through the week. On her knees every night, she took her grievances to the Lord, seeking solace, questioning how long things would tarry like this. So far, there had been no such response.

Setting her quilting pieces and needle aside, Rhea flattened her skirts, "How much have you gained since making the transport?"

"Not enough." Liam answered, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. He always dressed sprucely, something she had grown to admire. He carried himself in a certain confident state, though some days that certainty didn't reach his eyes. Much like tonight.

"So, how many more runs?" Rhea stood, returning a pair of scissors into a basket near the hearth. All that time spent apart was making her weary, she dearly missed sharing a bed with him at night. _  
_

"There's still half the crop left, the rest of the profits should get us through the winter." Liam loosened the collar on his cotton shirt, walking over to where she stood; he rested a hand on the wooden mantel a few inches above her head. "It's nothing to worry about, sweetheart."

Somehow those words did little to settle her constant qualming.

"It's a hard task not to worry, Liam." Guiding her hands to rest on his forearms, she tucked a loose strand of his thin blonde hair that had escaped its confines. "About your well-being, about Eli. He's grasping more and more everyday. He needs to learn the way of the land. I'm afraid I'll turn him into a personal nursemaid before he ever has a chance to ..."

Liam silenced her initial ramblings with a quick feather-light kiss. "You, my dear, worry too much. Eli will have plenty of time to learn the ways of the land, besides learning some of those household chores might be good for him."

"But, I-"

Liam placed a finger over her moistened lips. "No more protests, its time we both retired for the night." His finger trailed lightly over her cheek, brushing a few tendrils of hair swathing her neck behind her shoulder. "Besides, there are more pressing issues to pursue anyway."

He leaned down to capture her lips again, beckoning a response with soft teasing nips, resulting in a possessive strife for air. Rhea guided his skilled hands to the curve of her waist, his lips instinctively seeking the sensitive flesh of her collarbone moving toward the outer shell of her ear. Tightening the hold on the base of his neck, she silently willed him to continue. The amount of time spent alone for days on end welled inside her, needing, and begging for release.

"Well, well, well, isn't this a sight." A deep, rippling voice coasted over the stillness of the house. Rhea felt her skin bristle, as her lips departed from Liam's tender command. She glanced toward the sound. The front door now ajar, moonlight spilled into the foyer illuminating a dark outline.

"The young Stockton has finally returned home to his family." Another figure glided through the darkness, to the left. Liam straightened, all etchings of his tender embrace gone.

"What do you want?" he asked, grasping Rhea's forearms and pulling her closer. Pulse pounding in her ears, she squelched the urge to flee. _Who were these men, and what were they doing in her home?_

"You didn't really believe you could get away with playing both sides, now did ye?" The frame moved out of the shadows, revealing a hooded cloak concealing his entire physique.

Another cowled figure emerged, voice sardonic. "We aim to settle that, right here, and now."

"Liam, what are they talking about? What is the meaning of all of this?" Rhea questioned warily, her eyes darting around the room.

Liam brushed her fingers away from their resting place on his chest, his whispered words urgent. "Rhea, go get Eli. Now."

Rhea sidestepped to the right, her focus on retrieving her son. One of the figures grasped her upper arm before pulling her into his chest. Upon instinct she let out a choked wail, trying to uncurl the fingers lacing around her forearms in a vice grip. "Now, now, love. We didn't say you could leave so soon."

Warm breath powdered her cheeks, reeking of stale alcohol. The familiar smell compelled a series of abhorrent memories to surface. Rhea whimpered, holding her breath for a moment to regain her bearings. Her world was tipping slowly, black spots clouded her vision as her heart accelerated with every beat.

"Let her go, she's not to blame for this." Liam voiced, remaining where he stood at the fireplace, his backside absorbing the warm heat.

"That is true," One of the hooded fellows ushered, "But our intentions were to relieve you of everything you hold dear. Seems like a pretty decent price to pay for what you've done."

"Any man with the gall to do what you've done deserves that, and more." One of the others grated on a harsh breath, advancing towards Liam.

"Please, we'll give you whatever you want." Rhea reasoned. The scoundrel holding her released the tension on her arms, turning her away from his body. Her back collided with an expanse of black material, beneath lay an outline of an amble chest. Unshed tears dampened her eyes, overshadowing her vision.

The figure nearest to Liam glanced over his shoulder, the hollow blackness that made up his face concealed every detail, the appeal making him seem inhuman. Rhea's breathing intensified, she swallowed sharply.

"Take her out of here." The lone figure directed with an outstretched gloved hand, apparently turning down her plea.

"No, please, don't do this." Rhea managed to sob through quavering lips. The man behind her grasped her upper forearms once again, guiding her backward towards the open door. She couldn't leave, she wouldn't leave. _Not without Eli._ Liam looked content to fight his own battle, but her heart still silently cried out to him.

Digging her heels into the hardwood, she tried to halt her direction towards the door. "No, no, no. _Please_, I beg of you. Don't do this."

Whatever these men had in mind could not be pleasant, turning down cooperation was not a sign of robbers or mindless thieves. The hooded figure ever persistent to herald her out the door grew tired of her struggles. Wrapping an arm around her neck, another around her waist, he hefted her out the door and down the steps, ignoring her harsh cries of mercy. "No, please. _My son_...my son is still in there."

The darkness enveloped her captor's movements through the yard, he paused for a second as if trying to thread his way through a maze.

"Ah, so the lad produced a babe during his conquests." Latching onto her arm once again, he guided Rhea through a hollow of trees onward to the forest somewhere beyond the property. Moist grass permeated the material of her skirts, perspiration dotted her forehead, pieces of hair attached to her face.

"Please." she pleaded once more. "Let me return so I can retrieve my son, that's all I ask."

The figure turned, his face a dark void against the contrast of night. Like a demonic phantom he loomed over her, stealing her ability to breathe. The sound of splintering glass filtered the air, followed by hoarse shouts in the distance.

Rhea gasped, turning in the direction of the sound, watching as a fiery glare accentuated the surrounding trees in a warm glow. Smoke billowed in the air, the abhorrent smell burning her lungs. _  
_

Escaping her captor's hold, she bolted in the direction of the noise. When she reached the clearing, her vision focused on the smoldering inferno that was now her home. Eyes widening, she dashed towards the torrent. "_Liam! Eli. _Oh, dear God._" _The words escaped her parched throat, waning in the slight breeze. She was too late. The windows shattered under the impact of high leveled heat, the shards landing in the thickset grass.

A weight formed in her stomach as her knees gave way, hard ground cushioned her fall. She couldn't bring herself to take another step, the awareness of the loss molded in her heart. A sharp wail liberated from somewhere deep inside her, the tears she'd been holding at bay finally unlocked like floodgates, an onset of tremors tightened every muscle in her body.

Rhea smoothed her hands up and down her arms, over her face trying to erase the scene before her. For a moment she lacked oxygen, everything around her shifted mutely to the point where her own screams were drowned out by her own ears.

Covering her face with her palms, every inhalation serrated her chest. A humming sound sobered her sorrow for the briefest of moments as she felt a presence kneeling beside her. "Now, what are these tears?"

She flinched as the gloved hand belonging to the faceless man wiped away the wet trails veiling her cheeks. "Shh, _shh_." he soothed, a masculine chuckle emerging. "I think you'll find that he isn't worth mourning over, miss."

Her lower lip quivered as another onslaught of tears surged forth, her incisors biting into the soft flesh. Her entire life lay in ruin before her, blistering with the flames, disappearing like the ashes spiraling into the breeze above the expanse of forest. Grief blurred her beyond thought.

Rhea glanced one final time towards the dilapidation before a black sack was lowered over her face, obscuring her vision from the harrowing sight.


	2. Captive Without Chains

_**DESCRIPTIVE VIOLENCE {INCLUDING MENTIONS OF RAPE}**_

_Lost in words, hidden in lies, memories forgotten, silent goodbyes - Unknown_

**[** **Captive Without Chains**** ]**

_New Jersey, 1776_

Another thunder clap from above issued a silent warning to passerby, bringing forth heavy dosages of rain, and the occasional rippling of wind. Tremors assaulted her body, wracking from head to toe, to the point where she could barely catch her breath. The soles of her feet felt numb, nearly detached. A seagull's wail from above reverberated into her sub-conscious, guiding her out of the darkest recesses of her mind where she could only hear her own screams of mercy, and the roaring of ridiculed laughter as she relentlessly suffered by the hands of her captors. The twinge of pain between her legs had dulled to an aching throb, but the crimson stains outlining her tattered dress made anxiety form like a lead ball in her stomach.

Rhea's lips trembled as an onslaught of tears hammered away at her fragile composure, subsequently the sky opened up as fresh rain soaked her clothing; combined with her tears.

The resounding of horses hooves on cobblestones echoed in the distance, though there was no way of deciphering if it was real or not. Her mind felt deadened, as if she had lost all ability to depict a clear picture. Noises pelted her ears, set adrift in the throngs of her mind. Her legs trembled, as her heart stuttered a beat. _Where was she?_

The men were gone. They had disposed of her long ago after arriving, enfolding her in a sack in the back of a buckboard wagon, before discarding her on the side of the street. Summoning enough strength, she inhaled the crisp sea air through the top of the sack left untied, before raising her arms and hauling her body weight into the enclosure of an alley. She'd since forgotten how long she'd tarried here, but it would do as a final resting place.

She felt her spirit shatter, the pieces washed away in waves of affliction and self-torment. She could still hear every wretched intake of breath, remembered every grunt of satisfaction, relished in every attempt of vanishing from the horrid nightmare she dreamt herself into; her own private hell. Only it wasn't a nightmare, it was cold reality. _Reality_. A place, she feared she may never return to. In all truth, maybe she didn't want to.

A drop of rain made contact on her cheek, followed by her finger. Guiding a hand to her lips, she absently wiped away the moist film gathering there. Turning her head to the side, Rhea leaned her damp cheek against the chilled expanse of brick, savoring the blissful contact; the fact that she _could_feel something.

Once more thunder applauded, accompanied by a flare of lightning; bringing back every detail full scale. The demons without faces, the shattering of glass from the picture windows as flames scorched her home, her useless cries of forbearance. The darkness of those days and nights with that scrap of black curtain veiling her eyesight, never believing she would see the light of day again; had her longing for the rays of sunlight peeking through the gray mask of clouds above.

That's what made this whole situation surreal, she could never identify her captor's face's beyond their voices, because she never laid eyes upon them. It was something Rhea vilely cursed herself for not knowing. She could always piece together her own portrayal beyond those void faces, but it would never be enough to employ a search. _Who would search long and hard for those men to be brought to justice anyway?_ The question was hysterical, they posed no threat to the war already raging, and the family lost was of no importance to those fighting for the cause.

She lacked the power, strength, and sources to deliver judgement on her own. She could barely stand on two feet, much less pursue men with no identity.

What she desperately sought was peace, some sort of serenity where her mind couldn't conjure images of terror; where she could be free of the all pain. Rid of the chains bounding her, the shackles invisibly secured around her wrists.

She needed a sense of contentment, a place of warmth where she could drift into tender, endless oblivion.

Rhea felt herself slipping into an almost tranquil slumber as a quiet stillness descended upon the abandoned alleyway. A feminine voice protruded into her dozing as her eyelids fluttered closed, then open.

"Where did ye say she was again?" The voice grew nearer, but the words seemed faint.

Rhea tightened her grasp on the worn sack around her shoulders, shielding her frame from the unforgiving weather pouring from above.

"This way, madame." Another voice invaded the small quarters of the alley as flaming red material glided across wet stones, hesitantly making its way closer.

"What do we have here? A cast off harlot, perhaps?" The petite woman heartily chortled, raising her parasol to block the rain from dampening her neatly coiffed hair as she partially knelt.

Rhea turned her head at the intrusion, forcing her vision to clear by blinking repeatedly. Dark clouds engulfed the sky, as another rumble of thunder emerged, sending another writhing tremor down her body.

"Oh my, where are my manners?" The blonde murmured, studying Rhea intently lost in the emotionless regard reflecting in her eyes. "You must be chilled to the bone, let's get you some place warm."

"No, no, _please_...don't move me." Rhea whispered, imploring a silent plea to be left alone; they could very well bury her body afterwards. All she asked was solitude, for the chimera of insects to stop crawling over her skin like vermin.

"You mustn't expect me to just leave you here." The woman squinted slightly, as if trying to understand Rhea's non-verbal wishes. Reaching for the sack tightly fettered around her shoulders, the blonde removed some of the material concealing the blood stains discoloring Rhea's dress. "You're hurt, and you need to see a doctor. I'll bring you to one."

Rhea swallowed hard, defiance simmered somewhere deep inside her. "I don't need one. I'm more content to lie here."

More exuberant laughter forged its way to the surface. "Spoken like a woman who has a broken spirit."

Rhea couldn't understand what could be so uproarious, let alone the meaning of her words. _Broken_, that was undoubtedly true. What else could you name someone that had lost everything dear to them? It was an irreparable situation.

People, not to mention love, couldn't be replaced on a whim. All that served as a reminder were the memories, and even those disappeared with time.

"Phillip, would you carry her? It seems she doesn't understand the serious extent of her injuries." The blonde motioned to the man standing a few feet behind her, his face cast downward as if perturbed by the whole ordeal. Or perhaps he'd never witnessed a woman so torn inside and out.

Rhea scrambled away from the calloused hands reaching for her, though her movements were sluggish an futile. He grasped one of her shoulders with his palm before cushioning her backside with the use of his forearms, positioning her to rest on his protruding stomach. His face was smeared with soot, as if he'd been doused in warrior paint, the smell of sweat teased her nose, causing her to partially gag; though the contents of her stomach had already been spewed on the sidewalk hours ago.

"You're okay now, miss. No one will hurt ye anymore." he soothed, taking a few steps managing to refrain from jostling her.

Believing those words would be her absolute undoing. There were demons roaming the streets, and as long as they were out there; she would never feel truly safe.


End file.
